On a rare clear day last week, I went for a morning trail ride with a friend. Five minutes into the climb up Davis Gulch, I was quickly reminded that summer is nearly over.

Summer — how to describe it? A dull butter knife comes to mind.

The 46-degree morning air was my first clue that the season’s over. The numb fingers and aching ears was my second reminder. A few yellow leaves high up, coupled with the late-rising sun, rounded out the deal.

Yeah, summer. Where did it go? There was hardly time to savor Barry Bonds and his 756th home run, or Tom Glavine’s 300th career win. A-Rod hit 500 and the Rangers’ 30-run shellacking of the Orioles is already yesterday’s news, never mind it happened last week.

And can you believe that Casey Kahne and his No. 9 Dodge didn’t win a single race all summer long (though he reportedly got a kiss from Paris Hilton). The Royals are still in last place (nothing new), and the red algae on Canyon Ferry Lake chased me away back in July.

Heck. I even missed Hostel: Part II at the theater.

Now, it’s already football season and the Denver Broncos look mediocre at best. NASCAR is one race away from the chase for the cup and it’s the same old crew. I’ve already written two hunting stories and the season hasn’t even opened.

Then there’s school — those poor saps. I really feel for them, knowing what’s in store.

In case you missed it, Carroll College freshmen moved into their dorm last week. Every year I write the story and every year the students look younger and younger.

As for me, I realized I could no longer win a coed’s smile at an Ani DiFranco concert in Missoula seven years ago. I felt like a lecherous old man standing outside the playground at recess. It hit me hard that day, like a ton of bricks. I dread wondering how they see me now — yes sir and no sir and can I get the door for you sir.

At the dorm, it was funny watching the young bucks posture for the girls in their tank tops and untied shoes, each of them thinking they’re on top of the world, hoping to get first dibs on the incoming freshmen.

These young guys, they think they’re coy but I know what they’re thinking. I’ve been there myself.

That first smile, that flash of the eye, hoping they might get lucky and win a conversation over spaghetti dinner in the school cafeteria. That’s how life goes, like spaghetti and meatballs. It’s something you can’t control.

It’s how life moves on, one summer at a time, one baseball season after another. You pick the losers and hope for the best. The smoke rolls in and that’s it. Work drags you down and you’ve got no time to play. Your priorities are screwed up.

Before you know it, you wake up one chilly summer morning, wondering where time has gone, and what’s in store for the season. You wonder if your guys will ever win. You wonder what happens next.